Chapter Twenty-eight
Caleb stood on the deck of the gambling folly, the old feeling of being hemmed in nagging at him. It was time to close up the Sea Siren, repaint her hull, re-outfit her decks and change her name back to Rana. He wanted to take to sea again. He’d had enough. There were other things in life besides money. He would last out the winter here in London, then take on a crew and set sail in early spring. He considered going back to Batavia but thought how lonely he would be there without Regan or Sirena. No, he would see if he could secure a letter of marque from the King and set out for America.
Sirena herself had made off for parts unknown. Probably to Cádiz, Caleb thought. Even Regan, when Caleb questioned him, didn’t seem to know where she had gone. It was well known that Stephan Langdon had run off from the duel with the gambler, and when Caleb had asked Regan if Sirena had left with Stephan, Regan had an unreadable expression on his face and said, “In a manner of speaking. I suppose you could say that.” Then he had snapped his mouth shut and refused to say any more on the subject.
Another subject for secrecy was Regan’s marriage to Camilla. Caleb knew that Regan had moved into the room behind his office on Saint Dunstan’s Hill, but he hadn’t given his son any explanation of the move. Caleb shrugged. When Camilla thought the time was right, she would tell Regan. He wondered how his father would take the news.
Caleb knew dissolving his business would come as a blow to Lord Farrington, but then he would hand over all the gambling equipment to him and help him get started somewhere else. The Rana was a seagoing ship and Caleb was glad he hadn’t let Aubrey talk him into opening her hull and expanding their business dockside.
A frown pulled Caleb’s mouth downward. Aubrey had been behaving very strangely as of late. Several times in the past weeks he had seemed about to confide in Caleb, but at the last minute he would clamp his lips shut and stride away. In the past month he had gone from morose to belligerent to outright hostile. Caleb didn’t know what sort of trouble the lord could be in. Profits from the Sea Siren had skyrocketed and he had little opportunity to gamble since he put in long hours aboard the ship. Whatever it was, Caleb had no patience for coddling the ageing aristocrat. It was time Caleb got on with his life and his future, and adventure lay just over the horizon.
Caleb flexed his muscles, trying to work loose the knots of tension in his back. An ominous feeling kept wrapping him in a cloak of depression and uneasiness. His brown eyes flashed as he heard the bone crack in his back. The muscles in his chest rippled and his biceps bulged through the fine lawn of his white shirt. He threw back his head and twisted his neck to work loose the knots that were settling between his shoulders. But the ominous feeling wouldn’t leave him. Should he try to talk to Aubrey again, would it do any good? No, he told himself. Aubrey was saying only what he had to say and counting his money with a vengeance. No, it was too late for talk. He would have to wait it out as Sirena had. Waiting was like a game except this time Caleb didn’t know who the other players were.
Aubrey Farrington watched Caleb, a haunted look in his eye. If anyone could give Blackheart a run for his money, it would be Cal. He owed Cal more than he could ever repay and it bothered him when Cat repeatedly asked if he could help. How many more times would he have to turn on the young man? Cal could deal with the hatred and vengeance Blackheart dealt him if he were given an opportunity. If he could in some way warn him, caution him that ... “I value my own shiftless life too much to take a chance on warning him,” Farrington muttered to himself. Cal had the strength of youth on his side, plus a keen eye and sharp reflexes while he, Aubrey, was old and getting older by the moment. He no longer had the wit, the expertise to get himself out of a scrape.
His throat worked convulsively as he was hit by a thought too horrible to put into words. What if Blackheart didn’t keep his promise and killed him? What if the swarthy seaman sneaked up on him after he overpowered Caleb and comandeered the ship. He wouldn’t put anything past that scurve. If there were only some way he could absent himself when the event happened, he would be safe. He could hide out; he had plenty of money.
Aubrey looked skyward and felt the knots tighten in his stomach. Twelve hours more and it would be the end. The end of him and the end of Cal. What would Regan van der Rhys do when it was all over? He would bellow like a wild animal and unleash his animal strength. Wherever Aubrey went he would have to be sure that he was safe from Blackheart as well as Regan. Would he ever have a peaceful night’s sleep again?
Caleb watched a seagull take flight and soar upward. He marveled at the incredible wing spread and the slow, effortless glide of the bird. He wanted to be like that—free, free to go where he wanted, do what he wanted with no ties, no binds. He watched a moment longer as the bird swooped and dipped his way into the thick, gray mist hovering overhead. Did the gull fly by instinct; did he depend on others to get what he wanted or did he do it alone? How would he find his way in the thick fog? Gut instinct, he told himself. The same gut instinct that was telling him something was going to happen, and happen soon.
If he had the sense he was born with he should up anchor now, this minute, and sail as far away as he could. Nobody mattered to him. Not Regan, not Sirena, and certainly not the yellow-haired Camilla. He grimaced ruefully. Somewhere, someplace there was a woman who would belong to him. All he had to do was find her.
An hour before the gaming rooms were to open, Aubrey Farrington sought out Caleb and complained of severe stomach cramps. “You’ll have to manage alone for a while, Cal, I have to go into town and seek out a physician. The pain is becoming unbearable,” he mumbled as he grasped his stomach and wobbled back and forth over the deck.
“Of course, I can manage,” Caleb said quietly. He was completely aware of the fact that Aubrey would not meet his eyes. Now, why did he want to absent himself from the Sea Siren this night? Damn, and Regan had said he had a pressing business engagement. Something was in the wind; and Aubrey exuded fear as though it were a tangible thing. “You better hurry before the pain gets any worse and you can’t make it to the doctor.”
Farrington stood up, forgetting about his stomach for a moment. “Cal ... I ... good luck.”
“Do I need good luck to run the games tonight? What makes this evening any different from the other nights?” Caleb asked sarcastically.
“Not ... nothing. It was just a figure of speech. I hate to leave you alone. Tonight should be a big night.” In more ways than one, he muttered to himself as he scampered down the gangplank. He turned once and waved a hand wanly. “Good luck and Godspeed, young Cal,” he said softly.
That evening Caleb wandered among the gaming tables and was aware of the undercurrent of charged emotions. He looked around and could find nothing to explain the feverish gambling and the reckless atmosphere. Satisfied that all was running smoothly, he walked out to the deck and stood stock-still. Even here in the stillness, the uneasy feeling wouldn’t leave him.
Quietly, he called over two of the deckhands and told them to search the ship. When he was asked what they were to look for, Caleb shrugged and replied if they found it they would know. He frowned and strode to his cabin and withdrew a stiletto from his heavy sea chest. He unbuttoned his waistcoat with the intention of slipping it in the band of his trousers. Then he changed his mind and buttoned his waistcoat and slipped the blade up his sleeve. Deftly, he secured the ruffled cuff at his wrist and moved his hand back and forth. Warily, he walked back to the deck and knew that he could do no more for the moment. Whatever was going to happen would happen.
One of the deckhands returned to Caleb’s side, a puzzled look on his face. “We found nothing but wet footprints on the stern deck. Someone was here and one step ahead of us. We circled the deck but could not lay hands on the intruder. The anchor chain is loose and ready, as if the order to up anchor were due any second. It’s been freshly oiled, within hours, would be my guess.” Caleb nodded to show he understood and told the men to go back to their duties. So, he was right. Another hour and the ship would be empty. All the gaming patrons and serving help gone. Then he would be alone with the unknown force who moved on his ship, unseen and unheard.
When the last of the kitchen help exited the ship, Caleb sprinted to his cabin and tore off his waistcoat and removed his shoes. He rolled his trousers up to his knees and, on catlike feet, moved out again to the deck. He knew the ship like the back of his hand so he had the advantage. Quietly, he extinguished each of the smoking lanterns until the Sea Siren was in total darkness. “Come and get me, you bastard,” Caleb whispered to the stillness around him.
Stealthily, he stalked the ship, his eyes wary and alert till he came to a stop near the anchor chain. His bare foot told him the deckhand spoke the truth. Fresh grease and used lavishly.
Crouching low, he moved like a hunted animal, his teeth bared for whatever was to come.
When he felt the prick of a blade in his broad back, he was stunned. “If you move even one muscle the knife will go through your ribs.” The voice was cold, deadly and familiar. The same voice that spoke with Farrington in his cabin and whispered hoarsely on deck. “Your ship is surrounded with my men and there is no hope of escape for you. I speak the truth so do nothing rash. It’s a wise man who knows when to surrender. And it’s a wise man who returns to fight another day. I am the living proof of that statement. Light a lantern,” he called to a figure that hovered nearby. When the lantern was lit and hanging, Caleb was told to turn around.
Caleb’s eyes bulged as he backed off a step. “Blackheart!”
“Yes, Dick Blackheart at your service,” the hate-filled voice sneered. “As you can see, I’ve lived to return another day to fight. Only my quarrel isn’t with you. You, my fine young man are the bait.”
“You scurve! I saw the Sea Siren kill you with my own eyes. How did you survive?” Caleb demanded harshly.
“Does it matter? A murderous attack it was. There isn’t a day that goes by when my body doesn’t ache with pain. In truth, I’d be better off dead. Now, it’s my turn. An eye for an eye, my fine feathered friend. Very just, wouldn’t you say?”
“You’re a fool, Blackheart, if you think holding me will help you. Help you to do what?”
“To draw out the Sea Siren. Why else would I be here? And you’re wrong, I’m not the fool, it is you who are the fool.”
“The Sea Siren is dead, haven’t you heard?” Caleb lied.
“The Sea Siren is very much alive and living in England. I’ve been watching her for months and your little lies do not bother me. I’ve been waiting and biding my time for a long while. You won’t cheat me. I’m sailing this ship out onto open water and then a message will be sent to her. A message that you will write so that she’ll know it’s no trick. She’ll come to your aid. And if for some reason you aren’t important to her, she’ll come after me to finish the job she left undone.”
“You’ll have to cut off my hands before I write any messages for you,” Caleb said coldly.
“That, too, can be arranged. I can also manage to have an accident befall your father, the lovely Sea Siren’s husband, or should I say ex-husband. You see,” he sneered, “there is little I don’t know. Make no mistake, you’ll write the message if you want to see your father continue with his good life.”
Caleb’s shoulders slumped. He had to play for time until he could figure out what his next move should be. How many men did the damn cutthroat have with him? Were they as savage as he was? If he could just get the bastard alone, he would run him through the first chance he got.
As if reading Caleb’s thoughts, Blackheart laughed evilly. “Don’t think for one moment I’ll leave you alone or that both of us will be alone together. I can no longer use a weapon to defend myself, thanks to your Sea Siren. I give only one warning and let this be it. One false move, one trick, and your father will have a knife in him. Do you understand what I just said? If your father dies it will be because of you. His death will rest on your shoulders. I want to hear you say you understand.”
“Yes, I understand what you said, damn your eyes. You win. This time, but the day will come when you—”
“Enough! Lead the way to your cabin so you can write a message to the infamous Sea Siren. You know it was the name of your gaming parlor that led me to you. And to her,” Blackheart laughed. “It was talked about on the docks weeks before you actually opened. Now, move! And while you’re in a writing mood, you will also pen off a message to Regan van der Rhys. Just in case the Siren has any qualms about coming to help you, your father will bring pressure to bear, even if he has to kidnap her. He’ll move heaven and earth to save his own flesh and blood.”
Caleb moistened his lips and felt something die within him. The cutthroat spoke the truth. Caleb would do as he was told, for now. At the moment, he had no other choice.
Inside the dimly lit cabin, Blackheart tossed Caleb a quill and told him to write. “And,” he said menacingly, “I can read well enough to know if you write what you’re told. So no tricks!”
Sirena:
Dick Blackheart has comandeered the Rana and says he will kill me if you don’t join us at Pelee in the Caribbean. Blackheart is very much alive and means every word he says.
Caleb
“Now write one to your father; only this time let it say, if Sirena doesn’t join us at Pelee ...”
Caleb looked up at Blackheart. “You know this ship hasn’t seen open water since before opening the folly. Her caulking is dry and the equipment is too heavy for her top decks—”
“Shut up and write! Do you think me a fool? It’s a small matter to take her down the river to Portsmouth where she’ll be careened. We’ve plenty of time, young Caleb. All is ready and awaiting our arrival.”
Regan was just closing the door of his office when Camilla disembarked from the carriage parked on the corner of Thames Street and Saint Dunstan’s Hill. When she saw him, she lifted her tiny gloved hand in signal for him to wait for her. Regan sighed; he had hoped to avoid a long, tearful scene with his bride caused by his leaving the house on Drury Lane.
Resigning himself to the fact that this moment was inevitable, Regan took several steps toward her. She seemed extremely overwrought, and Regan’s thoughts flew to Stephan. He himself had seen to it that everyone thought Langdon escaped London to avoid the duel with the gambler.
“Regan, Regan,” Camilla called. “I’m so grateful I found you here. Please, I must talk to you! Please,” she implored, her pansy-colored eyes searching his.
Resolutely, Regan fished for his keys in his pocket and turned back to the office door. In a moment he had the lamps lit and he placed himself at the desk opposite his wife.
“I think I should warn you, Camilla. I’m not in the mood for a long-drawn-out scene. Can you get to the point? If it’s about me returning to the house on Drury Lane, forget it. It’s over, Camilla. It was a nice try, but it’s over.”
Camilla shook her head, her yellow curls bobbing on her head. “No, no, that’s not why I’m here. Actually, if you hadn’t left, I would have had to. Regan, I came here for your help.”
“How much do you want,” Regan said crassly, reaching for his pocket.
“No, I don’t need money. You were very generous, thank you. First of all, I came to tell you something and then I want you to help me. Only, I don’t know where to begin,” she faltered. “It’s such a long, involved story.”
Regan had never seen Camilla like this. And she wasn’t crying in an hysterical tantrum; she seemed truly in distress. “Start at the beginning, Camilla, I’ve all night. I was on my way to see Caleb to tell him I could give him a hand after all. Originally, I had a business appointment, but that was canceled. Just take a deep breath and start from the beginning.”
Camilla stared at Regan wide-eyed. She had never known him to be so patient with her. Perhaps telling him would be easier than she had thought. “Regan, a long time ago I met Tyler Sinclair...”
Regan listened incredulously to Camilla’s sordid tale. She spared no detail, telling him how she and Stephan had contrived to lure him into marriage for the sake of his money. She told him how Stephan had worked on Sirena to the same end. But, most of all, she told him how she had never stopped loving Tyler and that she would love him if he were a penniless pauper living at the Haymarket.
The further she progressed with her story, the wider the grin on Regan’s face got. At the end they found themselves laughing together over the way each had expected the other to bring a fortune to the marriage.
Regan supposed he should be incensed at how he was duped, but he was so relieved to know their marriage had never been legal and binding, he graciously assured her he would never press charges. Then Camilla’s eyes filled with tears again. “And that’s why I’ve come to you, Regan, to explain everything and to beseech your help. Tyler is missing! He’s not anywhere in the city. I’ve even checked with the Baroness’ staff and they all assured me that Tyler did not sail to the Netherlands with his parents. Why, the housekeeper saw them off herself!”
“Where do you think he could be?” Regan asked. He was willing to bet Tyler had somehow implicated himself in Stephan’s killing and had fled London with Sirena.
“I have no idea! And that’s why I’m beginning to panic. Regan, Tyler would never just leave the city this way, without a good-bye or anything. No, he’s in trouble, I know it, I just know it!”
Regan was moved by Camilla’s tears. Reaching over his desk, he patted her hand comfortingly. “There, there, don’t cry. It won’t help us find Tyler.”
“Us?” Camilla asked querulously. “Does that mean you’ll help me?”
“It does. Now, can you tell me where his office clerk lives? Perhaps I’ll pay the young man a visit.” Regan lifted his timepiece from his waistcoat pocket and studied it. Caleb would just have to do without him tonight.
Sirena combed her hair idly, watching Theo out of the corner of her eye. It had been two days since they had come and dragged poor Nell’s body out of their cell. Theo was already showing the effects of Nell’s death. She hadn’t combed her hair or washed her face. Her hands were gray and grimy and there was a thin line of black forming beneath her nails. The healthy pallor of her skin now looked sickly and green and there were hollows in her cheeks because she had refused all food.
Sirena understood Theo’s depression. Nell’s death had proven her own mortality to her. “Theo, please have a sip of mead, and there’s still a bit of meat left from this afternoon’s meal. Take it before you waste away.”
Theo looked at Sirena vacantly, shaking her head in refusal. “I don’t think I could get it down, Sirena. Thank you.” Even her voice lacked its usual vibrance.
“Are you going to sit there and waste away till they come to drag you out by your heels?” Sirena had lost all patience. Her tone was harder than she intended.
Theo looked up at her, a sneer turning down the corners of her wide, full mouth. “What do you know?”
“I know enough to survive! Do you think Nell is the first woman to die in this stinking place? Now shape up, Theo, before they bring out the death cart for you!”
“What if they do? It will happen sooner or later. None of us has a chance here, including you, Sirena.”
“No. I won’t believe to that. Listen to me, Theo, I’ve gone through hell many times. There were moments I thought it was the end for me. But it wasn’t, because I wouldn’t allow it!” There was a spark in Theo’s black eyes and Sirena knew she had captured her curiosity. Theo looked at her the same way Nell had looked at Theo when she waited to hear some bawdy fantastic tale of life in an exclusive bordello. Or for Theo to regale them with tales of the theater, which was prohibited to women at that time in London. Theo’s stories had kept them alive, including Sirena. Now it was Sirena’s turn to repay the favor.
“What kind of hell could you know about? It’s clear from your manner of speaking and everything else about you that you were born with a silver spoon in your mouth!”
“Perhaps I was. And I’m wealthy to this day. But I’m not talking about money, I’m talking about living! I fought for my life. I know how easy it is to have that feeble flame flicked out, Theo, and I’m not about to help it extinguish itself. I wanted to live; I want to live now and always will. When my time comes, I won’t give up easily, I can promise you that.”
Theo brushed the hair out of her eyes and Sirena tossed her the comb. “Now, if you fix yourself up a bit, I might be induced to tell you a story.” Theo ran the comb through her hair, pulling at the snarls and tangles which matted near the ends. Her eyes never left Sirena’s face, waiting for her next words. Sirena had always been very closemouthed about herself, answering even the most basic questions with a yes or no.
“Tell me, Theo,” Sirena began, “have you ever heard the tale of the Sea Siren?”